


Push

by auchterlonie



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Iron Man 1, Pre-Slash, Slash if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auchterlonie/pseuds/auchterlonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson cares very deeply for his agents. When Clint Barton winds up in traction, the man who put him there gets a push too...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Iron Man 1 story that can be read as a stand-alone. Thanks to Epeeblade for serving as beta, especially since her far superior work, "Back to Phil's Future," got me thinking about this one and the Phil/Clint relationship.
> 
> All errors are my own.

Phil Coulson, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., stood on a rise and surveyed the damage below him, ‘damage’ being the politest way he could think to describe the absolute disaster spread before him. If there were to be a press release, the phrase ‘an unfortunate training accident’ would be used and sadly in this instance, it would also be the truth.

A range of new Stark weapons had been supplied to the CIA for testing and a number of seasoned operatives had begun putting them through their paces. But this tech was different than anything they’d seen before. Stark tech always was. 

A range officer had assessed the new missiles and identified an appropriate safe distance for observation, but in doing so had severely underestimated the geologic impact of Stark’s new ‘bunker busters.’ On impact, the missiles melted rock and ignited underground pockets of natural gas which shot out in veins thousands of feet long. What would have been a small crater from a more standard missile was instead a mile wide impact zone of collapsed, scorched earth. Every operative present for the test was missing and presumed dead.

Clint Barton, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s ‘eyes in the sky’, had been sent by S.H.I.E.L.D. to observe and report. He’d been high up in an observation tower and, so, survived the initial explosions, but had plummeted with the tower as the ground below gave way. The paramedics had been hoisting his unconscious body from the crater’s edge when Coulson arrived.

Coulson stood and stared, listening to Agent May provide the sit rep, but his thoughts kept drifting to moments earlier.

“How is he?” he’d asked the paramedic.

“We don’t know, sir. We don’t know what kind of internal damage we’re looking at, but the chopper is on its way. We’ll look after him.”

He’d nodded, never taking his eyes from Clint’s face. He was not one to show his emotions, but standing helpless with Clint while the distant rotor sounds grew louder, passed as the slowest and most agonizing moments of his life.

Agent May had grown quiet. She knew Phil well enough to know where his thoughts were and gave him the extra minutes he needed to process the situation. He turned to her after a moment, his face emotionless and ready for business.

“So what happened here?”

“Tony Stark happened here.”

***  
“It’s not my problem if your people can’t read directions.”

“Mr. Stark, this is hardly a case of not reading directions. Your specs included range and damage potential. It offered nothing describing this as a missile that could bore through layers of bedrock at full speed and intensity… and only then explode.”

“You wanted a bunker buster, did you not? One that could ‘destroy any underground facility’ if I’m not mistaken?” he asked, though it wasn’t a question.

“Mr. Stark. We were not looking for something that would kill the very men firing it.”

“I’m sorry. Are you suggesting my lethal technology is too lethal? And that’s a problem somehow? Because, see, I don’t see that as a problem. I see that as a marketing campaign. So, thank you. I’ll put that on the Christmas mailings.”

“Good men died, Mr. Stark.”

“Good men always die,” he said, suddenly turning serious. “Usually at the hands of men just like you and by weapons created by men just like me.” 

He got up and went to his bar for the third time since the meeting had begun. He poured a large glass of expensive whiskey and downed it. 

“You know what your problem is, Agent? Well, one of your problems? You’d really like to blame me for this. You would. But you know you can’t. That elevator you rode up on isn’t powered by good will. It’s powered by money that I get from men just like you. So they can go out and kill other men just like you. Because, they’re just like you. And because they’re just like you? You need weapons that are better than theirs. You need my weapons. So that I don’t sell them to men like you.”

“And you don’t believe in accountability?”

“Do you? Tell me, Agent - if that is your real name - how many of your actions have killed good men? Are you accountable? I mean, let’s be honest here. You’re not even with the CIA, are you?”

“We’re not here to talk about me.”

“We’re not here to talk about me, either. We’re here to talk about how so many of your trained operatives could fail to understand simple missile instructions and what kind of fail safes I need to design – at your expense, mind you - to make sure they don’t do it again. All in the name of ‘accountability.’”

***  
Phil sat at Clint’s bedside well into the night, thinking about what Stark had said. Stark was right. They did need him. Too many good men had been killed in recent months by threats few in the world even knew existed. Good men and women for whom the ultimate mark of success was living and dying without ever being remembered.

If Barton had died that day, no one would have known or cared. No - that wasn’t true. They’d shared too much for that to ever be true. Phil cared very deeply what happened to Clint Barton. But the list of others who did could be counted on exactly one finger.

Anonymously was how S.H.I.E.L.D. operated, but that anonymity was also beginning to hurt operations. 

“I’m alright, you know?”

Coulson was startled out of his quiet thoughts and looked up at the largely immobilized Clint. 

“How do you figure that?”

“What, all this?” he asked, gesturing with his chin at the traction and bandages. ‘Nah, it’s alright. Just a few bumps and bruises. I’ll be up and making you work for it in no time.”

Phil tried to smile but found his thoughts were still too serious. 

“I don’t think so, Clint. You’re going to need a few months’ rest before you’re any good to me.” 

“A few months? You’re crazy. This is nothing. Give me a few days and I’ll be up and running like in old times.”

Phil smiled and looked away. Old times? For the first time in Phil’s life, the thought of going back to old times - to business as usual - scared the life out of him. How many close calls had there been? How many times had he seen Clint or others in this very same position? Hell, in this very same bed? How many times had he sat in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hospital wing and wondered if this was the night another agent got another anonymous star on the wall?

“Hey, Phil. Look at me. What’s going on?”

Phil looked up and tried a reassuring smile. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m just very relieved to see you awake.”

“This is your relieved face? You look like your puppy died. Am I dying? Scratch that… am I your puppy?”

He smiled again. “No. It’s just something Tony Stark said today got me thinking.”

He moved his chair in a little closer and met Clint’s eyes. “How many times have we been here, Clint? In this situation? How many times have you almost died because I sent you into some stupid situation?”

“Phil, that’s the job, isn’t it? We stop the stupid situations from getting even stupider. Don’t we?”

Phil studied his earnest face. His stupid, earnest face. Clint would follow Phil anywhere, do anything he told him to do. He’d live and die on Phil’s command. 

Phil needed to stop this situation before it got even stupider. 

“It’s time for a change, Clint. We need to play by a whole new set of rules. I think we need a new team.”

“Like who?”

“For starters? Tony Stark.”

Clint laughed until the pain everywhere made him stop. “This has clearly been a hard day for you. Why don’t you go get some rest and we’ll reconnect in the morning. Why don’t you stop by for coffee. My treat. I bet the nurses here make a wicked espresso.”

But Phil didn’t move. He held Clint’s eyes as the surety of his plan began to solidify. Clint knew the look well. It was usually the precursor to the most brazen and the most brilliant plans to come from Phil’s head.

“Phil, Tony Stark is not going to suddenly change his entire life and come play in the sandbox with us.”

“No, I think he will. I think he just needs a significant push.”

“What kind of push? S.H.I.E.L.D.’s already given him money, power… He has no family to threaten, no one he cares about.”

“Well that’s not entirely true. He cares very deeply about himself. All of his actions are motivated by self-preservation. We need to become the means to that.”

Clint stopped and considered. He studied Phil’s face and saw in him absolute confidence. 

“What did you have in mind?”

***  
“Director Stane, thank you for meeting with me.” 

Phil was ushered into a large, cushy corner office at Stark Industries. Obadiah Stane poured himself a drink and moved over towards the window. 

“I’m a very busy man, Agent…” 

“I understand that, sir, and I believe this will be worth your time.”

“Oh? How so?”

Phil handed him a file. “Are you familiar with an organization known as the Ten Rings?”


End file.
